Frankl took up residence at Westring in September, and by November every ale-house, market, and hiring in Westring had become a scene of discussion.

The cause was this: Frankl had sent out to his tenants a Circular containing the words:

"…tenants to use for wear in the Vale a fez with tassel as the Livery of the Manor…the will of the Lord of the Manor…no exception…"

But though intense, the excitement was not loud: for want was in many a home; though after three weeks there were still six farmers who resisted.

And it happened one day that five of these at the Martinmas "Mop," or hiring, were discussing the matter, when they spied the sixth boring his way, and one exclaimed: "Yonder goes Hogarth! Let's hear what he's got to say!" and set to calling.

Hogarth twisted, and came winning his way, taller than the crowd, with "What's up? Hullo, Clinton—not a moment to spare to-day—"

"We were a-talking about that Circular—!" cried one.

At that moment two other men joined the group: one a dark-skinned Jew of the Moghrabîm; the other a young man—an English author—on tour. And these two heard what passed.

Hogarth stood suspended, finding no words, till one cried: "Do you mean to put the cap on?"

He laughed a little now. " I! The whip! The whip!"—he showed his hunting-crop, and was gone.

His manner of speech was rapid, and he had a hoarse sort of voice, almost as of sore-throat.

Of the two not farmers, one—the author—enquired as to his name, and farm; the other man—the Moghrabîm Jew-that evening recounted to Frankl the words which he had heard.

* * * * * * *

One afternoon, two weeks later, Loveday, the author, was leaning upon a stile, talking to Margaret Hogarth; and he said: "I love you! If you could deign —"

"Truth is," she said, "you are in love with my brother, Dick, and you think it is me!"

She was a woman of twenty-five, large and buxom, though neat- waisted, her face beautifully fresh and wholesome, and he of middle- size, with a lazy ease of carriage, small eyes set far apart, a blue-velvet jacket, duck trousers very dirty, held up by a belt, a red shirt, an old cloth hat, a careless carle, greatly famed.

"But it isn't of your brother, but of you , that I am wanting to speak! Tell me—"

"No—I can't. I am a frivolous old woman to be talking to you about such things at all! But, since it is as you say, wait, perhaps I may be able—But I must be going now—"

There was embarrassment in her now: and suddenly she walked away, going to meet—another man.

She passed through stubble-wheat, disappeared in a pine-wood, and came out upon the Waveney towing-path. On the towing-path came Frankl to meet her.

He took her hand, holding his head sideward with a cajoling fondness, wearing the flowing caftan, and a velvet cap which widened out a-top, with puckers.

"Well, sweetheart…" he said.

"But, you know, I begged you not to use such words to me!"—from her.

"What, and I who am such a sweetheart of yours?"—his speech very foreign, yet slangily correct, being, in fact, all slang.

"No," she said, "you spoke different at first, and that is why—But this must be the last, unless you say out clearly now what it is you mean—"

"Now, you are too hard. You know I am wild in love with you. And so are you with me—"

" I ?"—with shrinking modesty in her under-looking eyes. "Oh, no— don't have any delusions like that about me, please! You said that you liked me: and as I am in the habit of speaking the truth myself, I thought that—perhaps—But my meeting you, to be frank with you, was for the sake of my brother".

"Well, you are as candid as they make them," he said, eyeing her with his mild eye. "But what's the matter with your brother? Hard up?"

"He's worried about something". "He must have some harvest-money put away?"

"He has something in Reid's Bank at Yarmouth, I believe".

"Well, shall I tell you what's the matter with him? He's afraid , your brother. He has refused to wear the cap, and he thinks that I shall be down upon him like a thousand of bricks…But suppose I exempt him, and you and I be friends? That's fair".

"What do you mean?"

"Give us one —"

"Believe me, you talk—!"

"Don't let your angry passions rise. I am going to have a kiss off those handsome lips—"

Before she could stir he was in the act of the embrace; but it was never accomplished: for he saw her colour fade, heard crackling twigs, a step! as someone emerged from the wood ten yards away— Richard.

The thought in Margaret's mind was this: "Father in Heaven, whatever will he think of me here with this Jew?"

Hogarth stopped, staring at this couple; did not understand: Margaret should have been home from "class-meeting"…only, he observed her heaving bosom; then twisted about and went, his walk rapid, in his hand a hunting-crop, by which, with a very sure aim, he batted away pebbles from his path, stooping each time. J6owzMe++32326OHHIVL8qbFsWxaBuxkknl9rKS1ojykpGTNmR/jSKe03BOv4Cea